Inside
by Kellifer Monkey
Summary: Set seven years after Day Three, following events which occurred up to 5.00am. Jack relates the different moments of weakness, he feels he has had in his life and what impact they have had on him. He has to face ancient demons in order to recreate himself
1. Release

"Hey man, how long you going to nurse that drink? I have a business to run, you know." snapped the white haired man; known to all as Brady, in his eponymic bar in Downtown Los Angeles. The sandy haired man gazed up from where he'd been swirling the remnants of an over-priced glass of malt in a grubby looking tumbler, and fixed Brady with an expression which made the older gentleman shrivel back uneasily. As the look faded a little, Brady caught an air of anxiety in the out-of-towner's eyes and let his old tenacity creep back in.

There had been too many fights in Brady's bar over the years and he was no longer the young and agile man he used to be. As much as he hated being walked over by these ex-cons, he didn't really have much choice with his nice new replacement hip and a heart defect. He bit his lip and waited for the man to respond or look away long enough for Brady to believe the moment had passed. The middle-aged Canuck ran one strong hand through his neatly cropped hair and gave Brady a long-awaited smile.

"Sorry mister, I have a lot on my mind right now. Why don't you get me another of these in a fresh glass? I kinda warmed this a little too much." His smile was soft and sincere and his blue green eyes were wide, but tired rather than menacing. It was obviously his own worries that caused him to look so fearsome… or perhaps Brady's own weakened instincts interpreting it as such.

"Sure," Brady replied taking the glass from the man's warm hands, "Must be pretty hot for you down here, eh? Where are you from?" Brady's voice faltered a little and the polite conversation he'd started out to make turned into the nervous banter, of a lackey faced with the wrath of a ticked off Don. The man smiled and did his best to ease the awkward atmosphere.

"I'm originally from Vancouver…" he began with a soft and calming voice. Brady looked up from the optic, as too much malt sloshed into the fresh tumbler and gave his customer a broad smile.

"So, are you in town to see the Kings then? They have had a mighty fine season; your boys are going to be hard pushed…"

"No… well I'll probably end up going. I'm not much of a hockey fan myself… I'm sure my brother will want to go down there though… he hasn't seen a game in a while. He tends to get his own way." It hadn't occurred to Simon that Brady would know full well why he was in this particular bar at a little after opening on a Wednesday morning. He shirked the question that he saw as inevitable for a moment and gulped back half of his malt.

"So is he getting out today?" Brady asked gesturing compassionately across the street with a flick of the bar towel clenched in his gnarled fingers. Simon nodded and swallowed hard. "So what's he in for?" Brady enquired with a note of trepidation in his tone.

"Second degree murder; he was granted full parole and… well, I came down here to help him out. I think he's going to find it pretty hard." Brady nodded understandingly.

"They usually do. Must be a relief to have family around though… he older or younger than you?"

"He's forty-six next week. I'm not sure I'll be much use to him though. We haven't seen each other for about twenty years. I came down for his daughter's sake; it's been hard for her…" suddenly Simon realised who he was talking to. Brady smiled thoughtfully. People always talked eventually, and he prided himself on his ability to make even the toughest of nuts crack within a drink or two.

"They'll be letting out soon; midday isn't it?" Simon nodded and downed the remainder of his drink, biting back its bitter after taste with a slight wince. "Well all the best, man. Hope your brother gets it together… maybe I'll catch you later… if you get to the game." Simon nodded and grabbed his tan leather coat from the shabby barstool beside him.

"Yeah, maybe…how much for the scotch?" Brady shook his head and reciprocated Simon's generous smile. "You sure? That's real kind of you and here I was thinking you wanted to kick the crap outta me."

Brady looked on in surprise. It wasn't often that he misread a person, but there was something different about Simon Bauer… something in those cerulean eyes that spoke of another side. A more sensitive side than Brady was used to seeing in his clientele.

"An old man like me!" Brady joked back. Then as an after thought he asked the question he was always dying to ask in these situations, but never had the courage to risk the words. "Did he do it?"

Simon took up his overnight bag and slung the jacket over his shoulder before casting a sideways glance at the unexpectedly friendly barkeep.

"Yeah. My brother killed a lot of people, only this one wasn't a target. You probably heard of him… Jack Bauer?"

Simon watched as the old guys eyes widened. It had been all over the papers when the head of the country's leading Counter Terrorist Unit had been convicted of murder. Not because of the murder itself… most people felt for the guy, given the sad circumstances of the crime. The reason it got so much press was because the President had attempted to cover up the crime and it had been this indiscretion that directly led to his impeachment and the witch-hunt that followed.

To the public at large, Jack Bauer was the reason David Palmer eventually took his own life. A lot of people weren't going to welcome him on the outside at all. If the secret had got out, Brady's would have been packed with press and photographers and protestors alike.

Simon seemed to know what this old barman was thinking and smiled at the dollar signs appearing in the man's eyes. He hoped that he wouldn't run for the hotline to the National Enquirer too quickly. God knows the bar could do with the financial input for a facelift, but it wouldn't do Jack any favours.

"See why hockey isn't exactly high on the list?" Simon chuckled, while Brady nodded; a little astounded by the cards fate had dealt him that morning. "Half of this country would have my brother play goaltender and take shots at his head!"

Brady knew the money he could make for this story and the extra profit he'd take from the nut balls that'd come down to throw rotten eggs at Bauer. However, something in Simon's eyes made him think twice. Most people would have shot him down for being so short with them, and so meddlesome. He could sell a story tomorrow, from just meeting the younger brother of one of America's most infamous criminals. Compassion would probably cost him a few thousand dollars, but fortunately Brady was one of the guys that pitied Bauer.

"Good job, Cechmanek has the goaltending in the bag tonight then!" Brady chortled. "Don't worry, man. I won't be making any calls… least not until this afternoon. Not everyone hates Bauer. I lost my kid in a shoot out three years ago… I'd have done exactly what your brother did and never looked back. Give him my best."

It was Simon's turn to be surprised and he moved back to shake the old guy's rough and battered hand with both of his. Brady good-naturedly told him to get out before he changed his mind and Simon left with a grateful smile, crossing the busy street to walk over to the Metropolitan Detention Centre.

At the tick of noon he watched as the gate opened, accompanied by a sound which resembled that of a wounded crow as it creaked and grated into place. It obviously didn't see a lot of action.

"Jack!" Simon called to his tired and shrivelled looking brother. He could hardly recognise him. He sure as hell wasn't the young college graduate that Simon recalled from the day Jack walked out of their family home with only the clothes on his back. Nor was he the big shot Federal Agent that had been all over the press seven years ago. Jack Bauer was a shadow of his former self and that darkness crept further over his face, as he saw that it was his little brother waiting to welcome him back to life and not his daughter.

Simon put his arms around his older sibling and felt the tension in his shoulders even from the briefest of hugs. Jack looked around as though he expected more from such a huge occasion. He'd longed for this moment to come since that gate closed behind him seven years to that very day, now it seemed like an anticlimax somewhat.

"Nobody knows you are out today… CTU pulled a few strings." Simon explained as Jack grew accustomed to the natural light again. "Kim called me, she said she was sorry she couldn't come here herself…"

Jack's eyes lit up at the mere mention of his little girl. He hadn't seen her for five years and although he'd hoped she'd be there to meet him, he knew he was asking the impossible of her. He'd thought that he'd saved her life on that far away day in CTU… in fact he'd taken it from her, in every other way but her heartbeat.

"Is she doing okay?" Jack said in a soft and awkward voice. It was as if he were unfamiliar with the sound himself, as it rang in his ears. He'd been alone for a very, very long time and being a cop in jail was never pleasant. If his face weren't covered by a thick beard and scruffy looking hair, the scars would have been instantly apparent. Simon nodded solemnly.

"She's good; Chase is doing a fine job with her and the kids. They got James into that good school with Angela and she seems happy…" He trailed off as Jack's eyes grew distant again. His mind rarely stayed in one place for very long. His active wits were continually torn between grieving for his loss and persecuting himself for his actions.

"She sent me photos… she isn't supposed to see me. I told Chase to keep her away, but I guess… I hoped he'd disobey me like he…" Even though he thought about nothing else, talking about the past still tore him up inside.

"You look well, Si. Business working out this time?" Simon reached down and took his brother's bag and put his arm round his shoulder affectionately.

"Come on Bro, let's get out of here. I got a place to stay for a few days… afraid it's just a motel and…" He tried to ease the pressure a little. "Well you are used to sharing a room, right?" Jack shook his head as he heard his own laughter, something he had found had become alien to his ears. It had been so long since there was anything to find in the least bit amusing. Still that was always something his little brother could do pretty well… mercilessly poke fun at him for his own amusement. Jack rolled his eyes and looked on at the streets he'd known like the back of his hand; now it seemed like another world.

"Fine, but I get the top bunk." Jack teased back with the feint glimmer of a smile. He knew it wasn't going to be easy, but it couldn't be much worse than the beatings and maltreatment he'd faced in jail. At least outside he didn't have his hands tied when someone started kicking the crap out of him. At least now he had somewhere to run. 


	2. Haunted

Jack lay on his back on the bumpy motel bed and listened to the only sound that he could hear in the whole world. A cheap alarm clock ticked thunderously loud on that otherwise silent Wednesday afternoon and he relished the silence that it echoed through and shattered every second. It had been so long since he had the opportunity to just sit in silence and think to himself… or more importantly to forget to remember.

It could never last though.

By a cruel twist of fate the clock was faulty and every fourteenth tick would clunk by without its tock. Every so often it happened, due to some cut-price factory outlet producing shoddy workmanship for the masses, but today Jack felt that it was a sign. Teri had died on the fourteenth of the month and by another cruel twist of fate, he'd killed Nina on the same date forty-two months later.

The clock mocked him, the way its master time always seemed to. It wanted him to know its power and he had no option but to play the subordinate once again. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he'd tried so hard to battle it head on and cram so much activity into its controlling grip, that it had spent the last seven years torturing him.

Simon had gone out to find a store which the motel owner had given him directions for, in order for them to have some real food to eat before they went out to face the world. Jack had showered and was about to change into the new clothes that his little brother had kindly brought along for him, when the ticking clock drew his attention and pulled his mind away to places that he tried to avoid visiting too often.

When he'd walked into that room and saw Nina pointing a gun at his little girl, the way she had done to his wife those not too distant years before, he had no other choice left to take. He should have done it years ago. As the revolver recoiled in his hand and his wrist clenched into itself… each shot brought a dim realisation to his foggy fear drenched mind. He was lying to himself.

"It was more than necessary force." He heard this phrase repeating in his mind and the voice of Ryan Chappelle seemed like the whistle of a kettle when you want to stay in bed. 'It felt right. He'd done what he should have done years ago…' The fact was if he had done it way back then, his superiors may have seen it in a different light.

It was a crime of vengeful passion. His way of making amends for the loss of his dear, pregnant wife. The effects of the strain he'd faced that day. What did it matter now, that he'd suffered similar torments on subsequent days too, or that Nina had pushed him too far? That he'd done something he'd regret far longer than actually killing that bitch, or leaving his wife in her clutches.

He'd kissed her.

The thing he found most painful of all to deal with was that when he'd closed his eyes and Nina had stroked her hands up the insides of his denim clad thighs, softly sucking on his lower lip and quietly taking control of him, he'd actually wanted it. He was disturbed by his desire as soon as he'd felt it and any calm moment he found afterwards, was spent wondering why he'd enjoyed the electricity of her kiss so much more than Claudia's or Kate's or… God forgive him for saying it, even Teri's. Nina made him feel something he couldn't cope with. Jack Bauer was a man who could take on the world, but the feelings he had in that deserted building as he kissed the woman who tore his life apart only a few years before, they were feelings and a situation he just couldn't deal with.

He'd spent years trying to deny the fact, but the reason he'd emptied his gun into her chest that day had not been to protect Kim, nor had it been to avenge Teri, the one fact that turned his hand in that cold dark room was that he couldn't bear the fact that if Nina lived, Kim would find out that he'd kissed her mother's murderer. 'He'd done it to gain her trust'. Least that's how he tried to console himself on dark nights in his cell, when the loneliness caused him to find some kind of relief. He told himself it was part of his job and that his strange arousal was just some weird chemical reaction. His desire wasn't for Nina; though the feeling was more than familiar, his desire was for someone who understood him.

Then once he accepted that, of all people, Nina understood him all too well, he couldn't face what she might tell his daughter about their time together. Be it years ago when Teri was still alive and he sought solace in his colleague, or when he sat trembling before her in that chair… watching… waiting… needing… wanting.

He'd told everyone that he had to do it. He'd told them that he had needed to kill Nina, to finally get the closure on all his pain and suffering, but something inside him knew he was wrong. He explained that he was justified in those circumstances; given that she would kill his one remaining love, right before his eyes and possibly even him, but Jack knew he wasn't telling the whole truth.

He'd never told anyone that the real reason he shot Nina Myers was because he couldn't let her talk about what he'd done, to anyone. He killed her because he was ashamed of himself. It wasn't the guilt of being a bad husband and father; it wasn't even the guilt of the stupid mistakes he'd made in his job. He was ashamed and always would be, by the fact that he had wanted her to do more than kiss him.

Jack Bauer had eventually shot and killed Nina Myers because he couldn't bear the fact that one day, she might look into his eyes and see that he'd been desperate for her to fall for his trickery; not so he could keep his job and keep lying to Ramon and his brother, but because he wanted a fuck.

The door clicked and rattled beside his bed and he pulled himself from his guilty reverie, just in time to pull a blanket over his practically naked body as the starched white towel around his waist bulged at what must have been the thousandth guilty arousal.

"Hey, Bro!" Simon grinned as he pushed the door closed with bags full of groceries. "No time for sleeping, man. We have to get out of this dump and get ourselves some action… the chicks here are so much hotter here than back home."

Jack rolled onto his side before snatching some pants from the rickety chair alongside his bed and pulling them on with the hope that Simon's conversation hadn't been inspired by anything he saw.

"I'm not sure I want to…" Jack began with an embarrassed glance over his bare shoulder. "I… I don't want to just get laid with some anonymous stranger for the sake of it. I'm not like you, Si… I can't just walk up to someone and take them to a motel and…"

"Jesus, Jack! I wonder how you ever had Kimberley… Teri must have been very persuasive…" Simon had always had a tendency to talk more than was absolutely necessary and about things he really shouldn't be interested in.

"Simon! Shut your mouth, before I shut it for you… don't talk about my wife that way… she was never… she wasn't like that." His voice trembled as he remembered once again who it was that had been like that. He'd served seven years for what he'd done, but if he lived ten times that again; he'd never stop feeling guilty for why he'd done it. He didn't love Nina and he didn't miss her either. It was far worse than that.

Whatever he did and whatever he'd said, it was as though she still had her revenge on him every single day, by taking his mind in the loneliest moments and making him feel something he'd tried desperately to bury. He wanted the way she'd made him feel, he wanted that anonymous, meaningless, loveless sex that stopped him being Jack Bauer and let him just be.

"Heck Jack, I've never been able to understand you, man." Simon muttered as he unpacked piles of junk food and beer into the space in the poorly stocked mini-bar. "I know if I'd been away for seven years, the first thing I'd want would be a little action with a pretty girl and a dirty mind."

Jack sighed and pulled a tight white t-shirt over his firm torso, as he began figuring the best way to make his point clear to his still immature little brother. He decided, after some thought,'what would be better than his usual fabrications?' The usual denials and half truths would work fine on the brother he hadn't seen for twenty or more years.

"Well nobody ever understood me, did they Simon? I'm a fucking enigma. I suggest you stop trying."

Jack flicked the cap off one of the cool beers with his teeth and flicked on the TV set, trying to entertain his mind until her haunting began again. No one had understood him… well no one who could talk anyway. 


	3. Ghosts

I know that he is watching me, even though my eyes are still firmly closed; I can feel his eyes burning into me, as he wills me to wake up and go out to begin his night of fun and debauchery. It's a familiar feeling and one, which I'll never tire of my part in. Simon is just over six years my junior and when we were kids, he would hate that I had grown into a comfortable slob, who no longer wanted to go out and play as soon as the sun showed it's reluctant face.

I used to lie awake with my eyes closed, thinking about Rosie Maddox who lived down the street, for hours. Ah, Rosie… the girl I had to wear a wrist bandage for, when the repetitive strain injury got too painful! Hell, at seventeen I thought she was the most beautiful girl to breathe the cold autumn air. She was a pretty, earthy type of girl, who drew my eye with her honesty and her friendly nature; but God did she have curves to die for! Even now I can feel a stirring in my loins just thinking of her.

Rosie and I never had sex. Rosie and I barely spoke to one another. She was to me, an untouchable beauty; as magnificent and perfect as one of Michelangelo's statues. I think I said all of three sentences to her on Prom night and she eloped with the boyfriend which I had seen with her everyday and never really noticed; the very next day. She had everything I wanted in a woman; every quality I deemed important to my varied and inquisitive needs, was bound up in that sexy and adorable package. I don't think she even knew my name.

I wonder if she does now.

Fortunately for me, the star qualities I saw in the unattainable Rosie were the very same qualities that later attracted me to my wife; but I'm getting away from the point. That's if I ever had one to start with. This is again, a thought which has consumed me for the last seven years.

Anyway, we were talking about my brother. I don't feel comfortable thinking of my wife, just now.

Simon would try his best to make just the right amount of noise, rustling and clanking his junk; to surreptitiously wake me from my deep sleep. I could make the game last hours when I wanted to, I've always had a hell of a lot more patience than my immature little brother.

The truth was though, that I never really slept well at all and would be awake long before he dragged his scrawny carcass out of the lower bunk. I didn't sleep much at nights, not since our mother died. It was too easy to let myself go under that smothering veil of nightmares, if I let myself relax fully. It was probably why I was so alert on my job. Five minutes with my eyes closed and enough coffee to sink a ship, and I could push on through even the most horrible days.

Then of course, fate managed to dupe me again.

I knew there was something dangerous in constantly depriving yourself of sleep, while working for a government agency. Sometimes I almost wished that my exhaustion would kill me, particularly when the nightmares no longer needed the darkness to torture me. When I lost Teri too, I knew that sleeping no longer made a difference to the fear and guilt that swam into every living cell in my body.

That was when I finally realised that the nightmares were real. They were my life. They had been dreams all through my teenage years; horrible terrifying dreams that caused me to wake in a cold sweat and sob into my pillow every single night for two or three years. When Teri died, they were no longer something I could shut out. The guilt and fear consumed me and I guess I realised what I was, for the first time in my life.

I'm just an actor in someone's psychological thriller. Some foolish pawn in an increasingly dangerous game, sent to test my limits and demonstrate my weakness and infidelities to a high paying audience. Shit, my pathetic life is no different to that guy I watched on TV earlier. Running around like an idiot, trying to save a country that lets him down at every bloody hurdle. Shame I don't have his physique too… mind you he probably has one of those personal trainers to chase him around some Beverly Hills park or something. I'd like to see him live my life for a while; see what it's like to really be in danger, every damn day of your life. Wonder if his kids would still love him if they had been through as much as Kim has with me. God, I'm a terrible father.

My father, Leonard; forbade me to cry in front of the boy. I was the elder brother and had to show restraint; Sandy was gone and Simon was no longer a baby. From that point on, Sandy… my mother… was never to be called Mom by me, or my father; and I was to discourage such behaviour in my younger sibling. I was not to mention her in company and if I did I would be severely punished.

My father was a wonderful man! The kind I'd rather kill myself than bear a resemblance to. Simon and I lost both parents that night. I was all Simon had in the world and now as I lie in this crumby motel room, I see very little has changed in twenty years.

Our mother was murdered by her lover, in our own home. I was thirteen years old at the time and thought myself a proper adult, once I'd hit those teenage years. I wasn't allowed to be anything else after my mother's death. I was no longer a child and Leonard didn't want to have to worry about me when Simon would obviously need more attention. It was decided, by my father… solely my father; that eradicating our mother from the picture would in time be beneficial to the boy. He was only six and a half, he wouldn't remember her if there were no reminders.

When I was eighteen, I decided that I no longer wanted to be the only reminder of what my father called my mother's betrayal. To his mind, her death was deserved; he was a devout catholic, and her adultery was a sin which should be punished by God. For years he told me that it was God's justice that my mother was murdered. The bastard never cried for her once!

Simon cried at the funeral because everyone else was crying. My father cried because he felt like the loser that he was. The rest of the family were far enough removed, to not feel required to shed tears. So I stood alone by her grave and wept until it went dark and my father's driver was sent to drag me home.

When I lost Teri as well, I had very few tears left to cry; and that caused even more isolation between my daughter and I. When Claudia was killed… it didn't seem worth giving my heart again. It didn't seem like I had any heart left to give. Who's there to love me now?

I open my eyes and there he is. The one person there is left to love me. The person I gave my soul to defend and my innocence to protect. You see I hate Simon's eagerness, his sense of fun and freedom, because I never had that. I never got to be a child. I was a son and a role model for my brother, but I was only ever my mother's child. When she was taken from me, my virtuousness was taken with her.

"Do you ever shut up, kiddo?"

Simon spins around to look at me, lying on my side; one strong arm supporting my head as I watch him tinkering with the faulty alarm clock.

"I thought you'd have had enough sleep shut in that place for seven years. God Jack, you can be such a wet blanket sometimes!" Simon smirked, getting up and going for his coat before I have time to protest.

"Yeah and you are still a dumb-ass kid, Si. It don't matter how many years go by, we'll always be the same assholes to each other, that we were twenty years ago. Now where the hell are you planning to drag me tonight?" 


End file.
